


Not a Creature Was Stirring

by endofnight



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Christmas, Gen, M/M, Mostly D:, Slight sad Christmas feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofnight/pseuds/endofnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not like Christmas just…happens, Enjolras. I have to finish Christmas shopping…have you finished yours? I don’t even know what we’re getting your father…I have to go grocery shopping, finish wrapping gifts, finish decorating, cook—“ He cut himself off when Enjolras cupped his face with warm hands.</p>
<p>“It will be fine. I will be home on Sunday morning. Ok?” Grantaire studied his face and his startlingly blue eyes.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t think the weather is supposed to be bad at all.” </p>
<p>Famous last words, Grantaire thought sourly, two nights later from his perch on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Creature Was Stirring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handahbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handahbear/gifts).



“What do you mean, ‘you’re traveling?’ Christmas is  _next week_. Your  _parents_ are coming, Enjolras.”

“I’ll be back before Christmas, Grantaire, don’t be extreme.”

“Extreme? It’s our first Christmas together since the wedding. It’s the first time your parents are coming for Christmas. It’s the first time your parents have come over  _ever_. They barely looked at me at the wedding. This is a huge deal!”

“And I told you,” Enjolras interrupted calmly, “I will be home before Christmas.” Grantaire gaped at him and felt his blood pressure rise.

“It’s not like Christmas just…happens, Enjolras. I have to finish Christmas shopping…have you finished yours? I don’t even know what we’re getting your father…I have to go grocery shopping, finish wrapping gifts, finish  _decorating_ , cook—“ He cut himself off when Enjolras cupped his face with warm hands.

“It will be fine. I will be home on Sunday morning. Ok?” Grantaire studied his face and his startlingly blue eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t think the weather is supposed to be bad at all.” 

***

_  
Famous last words,_ Grantaire thought sourly two nights later from his perch on the couch. The lights were off, except for the tree, and in the garland along the mantle. They mingled with the blue light from the TV as the entirely-too-pleased-with-himself weatherman bounced excitedly on-screen.

“Record snowfall is occurring across the Midwest. I hope you’re not traveling for Christmas, folks, because you’re certainly not now.” The green screen behind the weatherman cut to a shot of some airport, somewhere, with people laid out on cot after cot, asleep.

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire swore, turning the volume up. Their 10 week-old tabby kitten, Penny, gave a plaintive mew and he looked over. If it was possible, he could swear she was rolling her eyes at him.

“Thousands of people are stranded at Chicago’s O’Hare airport and hundreds of flights across the country have been cancelled as a historic winter storm barrels through the Midwest.” The weatherman continued to drone on about records and “unpredictable amounts” and honestly, Grantaire didn’t care in the slightest. He didn’t care, except about how this affected him and Enjolras and Christmas.

Grantaire picked up his phone and dialed Enjolras, putting the TV on mute.

“Hello?” The airport was loud behind Enjolras’s voice.

“Hi, it’s me. They just said on the news that O’Hare is closed?” Enjolras’s sigh was loud over the phone.

“Yeah, they just made the announcement a few minutes ago.  I was on the phone with the airline. I figured I’d try to call them before I called you.”

“And?”

“And, nothing. Airport is closed. Nothing in or out until the storm passes, and then they have to clear up and assess damage. They’re saying Chicago could get 30 or 40 inches from this.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, Grantaire. I’m so sorry. I _promise_ you, I will be home for Christmas.”

“You can’t promise that, if the airport is closed—“

“Then I will do everything in my power. Ok?” Grantaire didn’t answer him.

“What are you going to do? I can’t imagine even O’Hare is that exciting.”

“Well,” Enjolras sighed. “I have work I can do. And I have my Kindle, when that gets boring. I’ve found a plug and I’ve camped out. I should be good for a short while.”

“I miss you.”

“I know. I miss you, too. I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s not your fault.” Enjolras didn’t reply.

“When do Mom and Dad get there?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I told them tomorrow afternoon, because that gave me enough time to pick you up from the airport in the morning, but…”

“Well, you can sleep in then.” The slight teasing note to Enjolras’s voice was a bit of a reassurance and Grantaire felt himself relax.

“I’d rather pick you up from the airport.”

***

“Grantaire, I can’t fly the plane myself. If I could, I would.” Enjolras’s voice crackled over the line, and the hint of exasperation in it was unmistakable.

Grantaire was standing in their bedroom, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to keep the tears back. “I understand that, Enjolras, but you could be a bit forgiving about this. I’m stuck in our apartment alone with your parents, who have never been my biggest fan. My husband is stranded hundreds of miles away and probably won’t be home for our first Christmas as a married couple—“

“It’s not like we’ve never spent Christmas together, Gra—“

“I _know_ that! Ok? I’m just upset. I’m allowed to be upset!” His breathing was harsh in the silence that followed, before Enjolras said,

“Are you done yelling at me? You’re acting like this is my fault and it’s not. I’m not in control of the weather.”

“I never said you—“

“But you’re taking it out on me, and that’s not fair.”

“You didn’t have to travel.” Grantaire bit his lip and swore under his breath as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“I did have to, Grantaire.” Enjolras’s voice was cold. “It’s my _job._ A job I work 50 hours a week so you can stay home and play with your paints—“

“For fuck’s sake! You certainly didn’t consider it “playing” when the president of the fucking country bought one of my paintings.” Grantaire felt his stress quickly shift to anger, and he couldn’t keep the words back. “If you don’t want to work so much, then fucking don’t. I can get a damn job, Enjolras.”

“We’re not talking about this over the phone and certainly not now. You’re being unreasonable.”

“Oh, fuck you. You know what, maybe it’s a good thing you’re stranded in Chicago, because then I don’t have to see you right now. You’re the last person I want to see right now.”

“Well, great, I’ll just go spend Christmas with someone else in the airport.”

“You do that.” Grantaire ended the call, regretting that it lacked the handset to slam down. He settled for tossing his phone on the bed, and watching it bounce.

He strode into their en suite and turned the sink on to splash some cool water on his face. He knew this fight was stupid, and he knew he needed to apologize, but he wouldn’t risk calling back right now. He knew Enjolras, and he knew he wouldn’t answer, and that would only serve to make things worse.

He let out a deep breath, straightened the collar of his flannel shirt, and padded out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the living room, where he could hear Enjolras’s parents talking. As soon as he walked through the door way, though, the conversation trailed off. He felt his ears burning and tried not to look up and catch Viviane’s eye as she spoke.

“Is everything ok with Alexandre?” Grantaire cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Uh. He’s still in Chicago. They’ve completely cancelled flights now, and the airline told him they’re not sure when they’ll open again. And then it’ll take time to clear everyone out, so… basically, he said not to count on him for Christmas.”

“Oh, no! That’s awful.”

“We can get out of your hair, if you like,” Enjolras’s father, Pierre, intoned. “You can go spend Christmas with your family—“

“I don’t have family,” Grantaire cut him off. “Just Enjolras.” The silence was deafening. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, though.”

“Of course we’ll stay,” Viviane replied, softly. “You’re our son now, too.” Grantaire looked up and met her eye, surprised to see nothing but a soft, sympathetic smile on her face.

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Pierre replied after a moment. “It would just be the two of us at home. We’ll stay here.”

***

Dinner was quiet with just the three of them. Enjolras was the one who usually kept the conversation flowing and without him here, it was pretty obvious that Grantaire, Viviane and Pierre didn’t have much in common. Like Enjolras, Pierre was a lawyer, and even if Pierre had wanted to talk about work with either of them, Grantaire probably wouldn’t have been able to keep from dropping his face into the mashed potatoes and falling asleep.

Viviane took pity on him and asked him the occasional art question, but as he started to gush about a piece he was working on, he saw her eyes glaze over. He didn’t think it was that she didn’t care…she just…didn’t care. Or know anything about art.

So dinner was quiet, and after Viviane and Grantaire had cleaned up the dishes, the three of them settled on the couch in the dimly lit living room to watch Christmas movies on TV.

Penny jumped up and curled on his lap under the blanket and he pet her slowly, letting her purring calm his nerves.

He missed Enjolras, missed him dearly. This was the longest they’d been apart since before the wedding and he didn’t like it at all.

With a resigned sigh, he bade goodnight to Enjolras’s parents and scooped Penny up, heading to his dark bedroom. He changed quickly in the cool room, and slid under the covers of the entirely-too-large bed with Penny and a book.

He set his phone on the night table, but his eyes kept straying to it, far too often for his comfort. Time and time again he almost reached out for it, but he kept stopping himself. Enjolras was still mad, he would be sleeping, he would be busy.

Chewing his lip, he picked up his phone and shot a quick text to Enjolras.

_R: Hi. I hope everything is going ok in refuge-land._

He set his phone down, picking up his book again and trying to ignore his phone. Still, he grabbed it as soon as the screen lit up and opened to read the message.

_E: Hey. Good as can be, I guess? Sitting in an airport isn’t fun._

_R: I’m sorry. About being so angry earlier tonight. I’m just stressed out without you here._

_E: I’m sorry, too. I wish I could be. Next year we’ll go somewhere warm for Christmas. :)_

They texted back and forth for a bit longer, and Grantaire dozed off more than once before realizing it was time to go to sleep. He sent one last text to Enjolras and set the phone down, turning off the light.

***

When Grantaire woke the morning of Christmas Eve, the dread he’d been keeping at bay since Saturday finally crashed down on him. He gave an ugly sniff, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He wished he could stay in bed, but he couldn’t. Not only were Enjolras’s parents visiting, but he and Enjolras had decided to have the group’s Christmas party at their apartment. It was their first Christmas in an apartment larger than a shoebox, and their first one as a married couple, and they wanted to celebrate it…

And now Grantaire was celebrating it alone.

But even as he was wallowing in his own pain, he felt like shit for whining, even if it was only to himself. Enjolras was stuck in an _airport_. For Christmas. With thousands of strangers. At least Grantaire had the comfort of home, even if he had to sleep alone.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of bed. He would save the presents he and Enjolras planned to open on Christmas morning until Enjolras made it back and they could have their own little Christmas together. Just a few days late.

He took his time showering, and getting dressed and by the time he got to the kitchen, Eponine and Viviane were already hard at work cooking for dinner. He kissed Eponine’s cheek and plucked a hunk of sausage from the bowl of dressing.

“What time are we eating?” Viviane pushed her sleeves up and started mixing a dish.

“Eponine said you had originally mentioned 3 p.m., so that’s what we’re aiming for. We should be fine, just busy!” Grantaire felt Eponine’s eyes on him and looked up, catching her concerned gaze.

He shook his head and mouthed, “I’m ok,” to her, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

As soon as Grantaire got to work with them, the rest of the day rushed by. By the time the three of them, and later, Feuilly, were done, there was a turkey, a ham, and at least a dozen side dishes, including salad and Eponine’s homemade rolls.

Grantaire took a seat at the table between Combeferre and Courfeyrac and in no time, his plate was heaping with food and they were both looking suspiciously guilty. He sipped his water and set the glass down.

“Really, guys, I’m ok.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac said. “We know. But we feel bad for you, and for Enjolras. So we’re just making sure we’re good friends, that’s all.” Grantaire didn’t say anything and just took a bite of his potatoes. Usually one of the lives of the party when surrounded by his friends, he found himself sitting back more and paying attention to his friends.

He noticed the way Combeferre leaned into Eponine when he turned to speak to her, but he wondered if she did. He didn’t think so. Gavroche looked to Feuilly for approval on most things he said, perking up when Feuilly gave him an encouraging smile and nod. Joly and Bossuet kept touching Musichetta’s expanded belly, delight on Joly’s face when the baby gave a particularly hard kick.

Grantaire smiled. He missed Enjolras, sorely. But he was incredibly thankful for this group of really weird people that had brought him into their fold without questioning.

People began to break off and head toward the living room and Christmas tree with the giant pile of gifts underneath. The paintings he’d sold that year had put them in some extra money and he and Enjolras had decided to splurge on everyone else for Christmas. He smiled as he gathered empty dishes, and listened to the cries of surprise and, and “Fuck _yeah_!” come from the living room (followed by Eponine’s _“Gavroche_!”).

He carried the dishes to the kitchen in several trips, filling up the sink and putting them in to soak. He gathered the garbage, and since he knew their friends couldn’t hear him over their raucous laughter and the Christmas music someone had turned on, he decided to just run down quick before someone missed him. He tugged his boots on, not bothering to tie them, and headed down the back steps toward the dumpsters. He tossed the bag in and folded his arms against his chest, doing his best to keep out the chill. He looked up at the sky and watched the snow fall slowly and silently, until he felt dizzy.

There was the sound of tires on snow on the street behind him. He turned to look and greet whichever neighbor was returning home, when something made him pause.

He peered through the snow, watching as the man got out of the car, slamming the door shut. He pulled a bag from the back seat of the car, slamming that door, too, and began to trudge his way toward the building. Grantaire froze when he recognized the man’s build.

“Enjolras? What?”

Enjolras looked over toward him, stopping, and in the dim light, he looked tired, and snowy, and very tired, but _here_. Grantaire hurried over, skidding into him when he stopped. He threw his arms around Enjolras’s neck. “Oh my god. What are you doing here?!”

“Merry Christmas.” Enjolras pulled back and tilted his head down to give Grantaire a light kiss, but Grantaire buried his hands in his hair, holding him close. He kissed Enjolras with everything, not minding his cold nose and lips. When Enjolras pulled back for air, leaning his forehead on Grantaire’s, he clutched the lapels of his coat tightly.

“How are you here? The last thing the news said was that flights were going to be cancelled through tomorrow morning.”

“I rented a car.” Enjolras lifted an eyebrow, amused. “Obviously.”

“You…you _drove_ here? From _Chicago_? In a _blizzard_?”

“I didn’t realize your voice could hit that pitch.” Grantaire punched him in the pec and Enjolras huffed out a breath on a laugh.

“I can’t believe you’re _here_.”

“It sucked. It really sucked. But I wanted to be here for Christmas, with you.”

“You could’ve died. You asshole.” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Once I got about 100 miles east of Chicago, the ground was practically bare _oof—_ “ Grantaire threw his arms around Enjolras, hugging him tight, feeling the tears well up again.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“I love you, Grantaire. I want to be with you, especially for holidays.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed Enjolras again, lingering. “I love you so much.”

“Let’s go inside, you’re shivering.”

“I’m fine with you.” Enjolras rolled his eyes again and tugged him, heading for the building. Grantaire took his bag. “Our friends are going to shit.”

“I know, that’s part of the great part.” Enjolras bumped shoulders with him. “The rest of it is you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“I know.” Enjolras stopped at the end of the walkway and tugged him in again for another kiss. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire.”

“Merry Christmas, Enjolras.” He paused. “And you’re not allowed to travel the week before Christmas ever again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!


End file.
